Sexless in the City

Sometimes reading romance novels doesn’t quite prepare you for a love life...

For this 30-year-old urbanite, love is always a misadventure: The Harvard Lickwit, Hippie the Groper, the 5% Man, and the Ad Weasel. These and many other men wander in and out of her life — but never her bed.

Wednesday, December 15, 2004

Blogging slump continues

Updated 12:09 p.m.

I know, I know, the reading’s been rather thin lately.

But what can I say? I may be going through a mini-Job phase here (as in, rhymes with lobe). :( I mean, there’s the sis going off to war, rejections keep pouring in on the job front (as in, rhymes with fob), and yesterday I learned my bed will have to go.

Maybe this is punishment for writing such a sometimes-racy blog? But no, no, not even I could tolerate such messed-up theology. It’s merely the case that the friends who’ve so kindly been loaning me said bed (for more than two years now) actually need to reclaim it - a project that’s been theoretically in the works for some time, but had no urgency until yesterday. Now they need to claim it pronto.

Actually, perhaps, this could auger well for the future. I mean, if I were one of those peeps who make much of signs I’d conclude this forecasts a change in my status. Consider all the omens after all:
  • finished reading When God Writes Your Love Story
  • in desperate need of work
  • unemployment funds almost gone
  • out of milk and other, er, essentials
  • losing bed
  • received “How to Find a Godly Spouse,” on CD
  • received the next Sexless BOTtoM in the mail yesterday: The Rise of Viagra
  • weather taking turn for the frigid
  • recently invited to attend Tom Jones show in California
  • met Tom Wolfe at lecture and book-signing Monday night
My conclusion? While in California I am going to meet an older-but-with-it gentleman in almost-immediate search of a wife, whose name will probably be Tom. Because, you know, clearly this is how God would choose to fix my problems. I mean, all the movies I’ve ever seen are pretty much unanimous. Find a man, and everything in your life works out. You could have mumps, measles and rubella, all at once ... but find the right man, and poof! All gone. Instantly.

So, I’m sure that between this spate of minor tragedies and the strangely repetitive appearance of old dudes named Tom ... and the emphasis on marriage in reading and other material ... this Means Something. This could be God writing my love story! Can’t you almost hear the cheesy theme music?

PS: Readers of my other blog may be happy to know a 9-day silence at last has been broken. Albeit somewhat grimly. Hey, this is why they warn against drinking alone, what can I say?